


And what came after

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [60]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Celebrations, Dragon Age: Origins - Witch Hunt DLC, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Goodbyes, Love, Post-Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Post-Dragon Age: Origins Quest - The Battle of Denerim, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunions, Slice of Life, The Calling (Dragon Age), Victory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: The archdemon defeated, Caitwyn Tabris has a whole life ahead of her.  Her and Alistair both.  But that was hardly the end of their story.  Snippets that bridge the gap between the end of DA:O and through the Warden's Quest for the Cure as mentioned in DA:I.   Includes looks at Alistair's return to Vigil's Keep, finding Morrigan again, how I square Warden!Alistair talking about meeting Maric in DA:I, my answer to what Morrigan did with Kieran while she was in Serault, and a small look at the Quest for the Cure to the Taint.Much love to everyone who has been along for this ride.  <3Series Completed.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Tabris (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Cyrion Tabris & Female Tabris, Kieran & Female Warden, Kieran & Morrigan, Leliana & Female Warden (Dragon Age), Morrigan & Female Warden, Shianni & Soris & Female Tabris, Warden & Warden's Mabari (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai & Female Warden
Series: Wed to Blight [60]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/879681
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	And what came after

_i. the first blush of victory_

**9.31 Dragon, Justinian  
** **The Alienage, Denerim**

Caitwyn threw her head back and laughed. A full, bright, silver laugh that spilled from her lips even though she couldn’t remember what had set her off. The Alienage was in shambles. Houses had burned down, but the flames had not touched the Vhenadahl. At least not it’s bark, though the leaves and curled and withered. She kicked her legs freely as she sat on her favorite perch. Shianni pressed to one side, Soris to another, a bottle of wine passed between them.

“Cait,” Shianni hiccuped. “ _Where_ did you get this?”

“Oooooh, nowhere special,” she demurred and adjusted the little flower crown a child had given her.

“Did you steal it?” Soris asked sharply.

“If you leave coins it’s not stealing!” she cried indignantly. The rotten smear of the Blight was already receding, and much, much closer was the warm brightness of Alistair. He grinned shyly up at her while the flower-crown making child offered him his own token. She waved, but didn’t want to go down quite yet.

Up here, up here she could see everyone. Her kith and kin brought pot after pot of food out for all to share. Papa wiped the sweat off his brow as he produced small pies for anyone and everyone to take up and eat. Her favorite, and she would probably be roped into helping sooner rather than later. Leliana tuned her lute, already drawing an interested crowd, and Zevran leaned oh-so-casually against a wall, neatly cornering her cousin Theo. Yes, this was much, much better than the official celebration she had left behind.

“You gonna dance with that man of yours, cousin?” Shianni’s grin was far, far too knowing. Caitwyn picked at a flake of bark.

“Shianni, don’t be base,” Soris scolded. Shianni rolled her eyes, but both cousins shut their mouths with a click when Alistair finally shuffled to the base of the tree. His ears were all red and pink and it made his freckles stand out. She could make him go through the motions, could wait until he asked, but instead she shoved the bottle at Soris and threw herself down out of the tree.

He caught her with a grunt, and she giggled as she landed.

“Alright, you’ve had a lot to drink, haven’t you?”

“Maybe. Some. A bit.” 

He brushed back a stray lock of her hair, and she smiled widely as his hazel eyes softened in the firelight. Then Leliana’s lute sounded, and the first strains of a lively dance filled the space between the chatter and the laughter. Caitwyn grabbed Alistiar’s hand and without a thought for what might have been and what might yet be, she danced with her lover and a crown of flowers in her hair.

* * *

_ii. faded by a later light_

**9.31 Dragon, Harvestmere  
** **Vigil’s Keep, Arling of Amaranthine**

Caitwyn pressed a hand to her chest and closed her eyes. It was over, she reminded herself. It was over, and the Architect was dead. There was no need to dwell on what had happened. The broodmothers in the dark, the snatches of memory as the Architect tested and _took_ , the heart-freezing panic of waking up naked in a cell, or the Mother. Least of all _that_ creature. 

The Vigil had stood, and so did she. 

She opened her eyes and the looking glass confirmed that she had not been sleeping as well as she would have liked. Only Oghren knew all that lay behind her, all the old scars, and try as he might, the old warrior was better with an enemy he could use his axe on.

With a heavy breath, she splashed water on her face and prepared to face the day. Another day as Warden-Commander. Another day of administration and command and the pressing insistence that she name her officers from captain to constable. The list of suggestions from Weisshaupt was pointed, but she held her ground. Not until—

A clamor rose from the courtyard, and Caitwyn peered out the window to see two figures ushered through the gate. Thank the Maker she was alone, because there was no helping the eager smile that broke over her face. Taking a moment to compose herself, she walked down the winding stairs and strode through the doors as a pair of newly minted Wardens opened them.

Maethor bounded for her. 

Mindful of her slight size, he capered around her, all bouncing, eager enthusiasm, and she laughed. “If you don’t settle down, boy, I can’t give you a pat.”

He sat so quickly he might have been spelled to the ground. She dug her fingers into the spot behind his ears, and wuffed his approval. 

“Someone missed you,” a voice drawled. And there he was, her Alistair. She stood, and she had to crane her neck back to see him properly. Did he get taller while he’d been away? No, surely not. The crooked smile was the same, but the corners of his lips turned down when she didn’t rush into his arms.

“Missed him, too,” she said, but didn’t look at her dog. Please, she thought, let him figure it out. He glanced about them, the Wardens of the Vigil eager to see another hero of the Fifth Blight. He sighed and waved away his irritation at what he would call paranoia. But he hadn’t seen the letters from the First Warden. Not yet. She would show him soon enough, and hopefully he would agree to her plan to keep them both, them _all_ safe.

And when she asked, he accepted with all the grace of a child taking bitter medicine. 

But she snuck into his room that night, the quarters they kept separate now, and found him staring moodily into the fire. Her arms slipped around his waist, and she nuzzled under the crook of his arm. He grunted with ill humor.

“Didn’t think we could do this sort of thing now.”

“In _public_.” The fire crackled and spat. The Keep was drafty, and she was already dreading having to pay for the fuel necessary to heat the damned place come the heart of winter. She sighed. “I know this isn’t the welcome you wanted—”

“Did picture it a bit different, yes. More kissing and excitement, less paranoia and being made a Warden-Captain. Did _not_ picture that at all.”

“I told you, I need captains I can _trust_. Nathaniel already agreed to captain the scouts and rangers, and Velanna has the mages. You’re the best warrior I know, and you’ve been in more fights than some Wardens twice your age.”

“Buttering me up, are you?”

“No, but is it working?” She risked a glance up at him, and the sullen cast had fled, replaced by an anxious arch to his brow. Nudging him gently, she whispered, “I trust _you_. I know you’ll be fine out there, as qualified as I am really.” That got a smile out of him, and she relaxed against him. “You’ll be fine, and there’s no one else I’d rather have at my back.”

“Or,” he said, a bounce back in his voice. “In front of you. What with me having a shield and you being an archer.”

“There he is,” she said brightly. Brushing her fingers through his hair, she turned his face to hers. “There’s my Alistair.”

“Always,” he whispered. Every time she thought her heart had reached the limit of its fullness, he found a new way to prove that untrue. She pulled his head down and kissed him, kissed him for missing him all these months, for wishing he had been here when the nightmares had come back, kissed him for taking on a responsibility he didn’t want for both their sakes. For coming back to her.

* * *

_iii. that might never come again_

**9.32 Dragon, Haring  
** **The Nest, The Dragonbone Wastes**

“I will never understand you, and you will never understand me.” 

_Liar_ , Caitwyn accused with her face if not her voice. Morrigan held herself as if no time at all had passed. She had chosen her perch like she had done in the Kocari Wilds over two years ago. Though her friend, the woman who had called her _sister_ held herself stiffly, the pained arch to Morrigan’s brows and the concern in those yellow eyes screamed the truth even if the woman herself didn’t believe it.

“We helped each other, even so.” She kept her tone measured. All that they had been through together: the Wilds, Redcliffe, the Deep Roads, and that one final, terrible night. All that lay between them, all the blood and terror that had bound them had become tenuous. It cut an icy path under her breastbone to hear the distance in Morrigan’s voice again.

“I would not even know where to begin explaining.”

“Well, start with the, the child? Is it, he? She? Well?”

Her whole body ached with the need to know. Not for Alistair’s sake. Not for Morrigan’s. Not even her own. But for the life that had been used to buy theirs.

And, to Caitywn’s shock, Morrigan’s face softened. Yellow eyes, normally as sharp and bright as a raven’s took on a warm, golden glow, and her lips turned ever so slightly upwards. “He is. And safe. All you need know is that he is an innocent.”

Her vision blurred and a bubble of relief burst in her chest. The warning about Flemeth was stored away for later, as was the resting place of the book Morrigan had taken. Those would matter later. Now, she would take the only good-bye her friend, _her sister_ would offer her. 

Then she was gone through the Eluvian. The still glass of the mirror was cool under Caitwyn’s fingers. She pressed her hand to the surface, wondering if Morrigan was yet still on the other side. If some sentiment that she had once sneered upon compelled her to linger, if some tug on a heart string she would forever deny urged her to look back. Just this once, to look back. Because if she did, and if the child was there as well, they would see Caitwyn’s mouth move silently and form three words that contained more than should be possible for so small a collection of syllables. 

She did not need to hear it back; that she lived was proof enough of Morrigan’s love.

* * *

_iv. yet we find moments to steal_

**9.34 Dragon, Solace  
** **The Coastlands, Arling of Amaranthine**

“Come on, Cait, nearly there,” Alistair said brightly, grin on his face. He had gotten back two nights ago, late, weary and dirty, having pushed hard to make it back to the keep quickly from Kirkwall. She had found him still armored and passed out on his bed, and had managed to at least get him out of the metal bits by herself. 

Even if a few trusted souls knew, in an oblique way, that _some_ of the rumors about Alistair and herself were true, she had no care to confirm them. 

But being Warden-Commander had its perks. It afforded her a reasonable excuse to scout the area after Alistair had decided they should go for an outing. Just the two of them.

Then Maethor barked.

Just the two of them and her dog.

“Alistair, where are we going?” she asked, allowing him to take her by the hand and lead her away from the walls of the city and the turrets of the keep. 

It was a blessedly hot day, the air hazy and thick with bugs and the promise of rain on the horizon. In spite of the heat, Caitwyn didn’t have to shade her eyes as she watched the ocean. She had missed the salt tang in the air, all the time she had been away from Denerim, though she had not missed the smell of the docks on days such as this. Amaranthine was slightly better, a smaller city, a smaller port, and the people here much more conscientious about what they threw into the ocean. They at least seemed to realize that the tide had a way of bringing back everything you tried to get rid of.

“It’s a surprise,” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “You’ll see.” They strode through the tall grass down the slope that lead to the soft, sand. Maethor, upon seeing the ocean, ran right into it, barking excitedly.

“Is the surprise the ocean? Not a very good one, as surprises go. Hard to miss, and well, you can’t give someone the ocean,” she teased, and he rolled his eyes.

“No, the surprise is not the ocean, thank you. I’d hope you’d give me a little more credit than that.” He put on an air of mock offence, easily provoking a smile out of her as always. “Your surprise, my dearest love, is today I’m going to teach you to swim!”

The declaration was accompanied by the swift removal of his shirt and pants, which was probably why she was unprepared when he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and began to stride into the waves.

“Alistair! Put me down!” she shouted, kicking her feet. Maethor, for once, did not take her shout of protest as a sign of her being attacked, and instead he grinned at her. She glared at the dog, mouthing the word traitor, even as Alistair got to where the water was up to his waist.

“If you wanted to, you could make me, and we both know it, though I’d appreciate it if you’d avoid the gentlemen’s area in doing so. Now that we’re by the ocean, you really should learn to swim. You’ll be fine, promise. 

She grumbled a little more and then sighed. “Can I at least get out of my clothes?” 

“Oh, yes, that probably would be a good idea.” He walked her back to the beach where he set her down. She had half a mind to run and avoid the swimming lesson, but she knew he’d just find a way to bring her back here. Unlacing her boots and removing her clothes, she added them to the pile his made, setting her boots next to his own, and then presenting herself at the water’s edge. Her arms were held out at her sides, and she looked up at him.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” she said darkly. Still grinning, he cupped her face and kissed her on the forehead, then took her hands and walked backwards into the water. She dipped one toe in, and found it wasn’t too bad. A little cool, but it was nice on a grey, muggy day like today.

“Still don’t know how you never learned. You love the ocean,” he commented. The water was to her waist, and the feeling of not being quite planted or sure in her footing unnerved her. Give her a rooftop any day, and she’d be fine, happy even. Scaling walls, cliffs, not a problem. She could see obstacles up head, plan for them, and deal with them, but the ocean? Or any large body of water? Who knew what was down there?

“I like looking at the ocean. But I don’t have to like being in it,” she countered, green eyes wide as the water was now up to her chest. “Was too dangerous to swim around Denerim, and besides there’s stuff in the ocean I can’t shoot.”

“But I’m here, and so is Maethor. And we won’t be going that far out. In fact, this,” he said, looking around, the water just over her breasts, “should be perfect. Now, lift your feet up and try to let yourself float.” He held her, their hands clasping each other’s forearms. Still, she hesitated, eyes scanning, trying to find a way to detect threats as the water lapped at her body.

“Cait, Cait,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. She looked up, his expression heart-stoppingly tender. “You’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”

His hands squeezed her arms, a reassuring, solid touch in an uncertain environment. Clinging to his arms, she took a breath and nodded. Deliberately, she let her feet leave the ocean floor and she let the water support her weight. He walked backwards, parallel to the shore as she floated. Maethor paddled around them, snapping at the water in canine enthusiasm. After they had gone a little ways, he turned them around, and she let her feet touch the bottom again.

That had not been entirely awful.

“Excellent, swimming lesson number one, completed! Got lots more to learn, you up for it?”

“Might as well,” she said dryly, and he grinned, knowing that she wasn’t actually angry at him. At least, not anymore.

“Good, we move on to lesson two, kicking. You’re good at kicking, so just… do that. At the water, not me,” he explained quickly, when he saw her sharp, teasing grin. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

* * *

_v. and those who wander return_

**9.36 Dragon, Bloomingtide  
** **Vigil’s Keep, Arling of Amaranthine**

“... and if we are to continue to provide further assistance to the—”

“Oi! You, don’t you take another step!” a guard barked.

Caitwyn jerked upright in her chair on the dais—Maker let no one call it a _throne_ , she had ordered the desk there for a damned good reason—and tried to peer around the assembled courtiers and functionaries. 

“Hold! State your business!” Pikes were leveled at the newcomer, and then she smiled as a familiar voice broke into the commotion.

“Friends, friends! Surely we are all friends here,” he rambled. She bounded from the dais, the crowd parting for her as she crossed the great hall. “You, my dear sers, are Wardens, and why, I know three of your number rather well. For a good year we travelled together. Are there no stories of a dashing elf who fought by our dear Caitwyn’s side with such—”

“Such what, Zevran?” She crossed her arms and offered her old friend, who she had not seen in far, far too long, the smirk he deserved.

A dagger sharp smile cut across his face and he held his arms out expansively. “Such vigor, such verve, such vivacity!”

“Alright, alright, don’t strain yourself for all the words that start with ‘v’, now.” A flick of her hand, the guards stood at attention and the pikes were once more vertical. “They know who you are now, so you shouldn’t have further trouble while you’re here. Though, that does make me wonder. Why _are_ you here, Zevran?”

“Can not a man merely wish to see old friends, friends with whom unbreakable bonds were formed? Friends who—”

“You’ve pissed off the Crows more than usual and you need a place to lie low?”

“Why can it not be both?”

“Come on,” she sighed. “Let’s get you a room.”

“My dear, I promise, when I am once more able, I shall provide a token of my gratitude.” He bowed with a flourish, though his supposedly ingratiating smile took in no few number of the lords and ladies about the room. Oh Andraste’s mercy, he was going to cat about, she just knew it.

Well, if anyone succumbed to Zevran’s charms, it would be their own problem.

“Don’t need that, Zevran. We’re friends, and this doesn’t cost you a thing.”

“Surely not!” he protested, righting himself. “I would not impose without recompense.”

“Zevran, follow me. Now.” 

He did so with a chipper bounce in his step, and though he _did_ cat about—the entire arling no less, not just the Vigil itself—it had been good to see him again. Between his usual habits, he aided some of the scouts and warriors in their practice, and of an evening she greatly enjoyed getting to take supper with Zevran, and Alistiar, and Oghren. Between the four of them, old times were not so dark as she sometimes thought they had been. More talk of the time she had drunk Oghren’s liquor, or Alistair had found himself in another leg trap.

And when he left, the keep was a little less bright for it.

It was months later when a small, innocuous package arrived with her name on it. There was a small inscription tucked into the brown paper wrapping, and it merely read: _To my_ _dearest_ _friends. —Z_

When she and Alistair unwrapped it, they had almost thrown the book in the fire.

It was just like Zevran to think that a Rivani sex manual was an appropriate gift. Even if they did put it to use. Eventually.

* * *

_vi. though darker fears circle thy brow_

**9.38 Dragon, Drakonis  
** **Brynnlaw, Antiva**

Alistair held his head in his hands. The bed at the inn sagged in the middle, and the sheets were scratchy, but the sour taste of defeat overshadowed those discomforts. Avernus’s information had been wrong, and they had been lead on another wild chase for a cure. A cure that, with every year that went by, Caitwyn needed more and more desperately.

“Hey.” Her lilting voice was soft in the night, and her hand pressed into his back. “What’re you doing up?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it.” A wild chase that started in Antiva City and lead all the way to Seheron. And ultimately the Fade where he had met—

“I’m sorry about Maric.” 

He snorted with dark amusement. “I seem to recall you slapping him right across the mouth. Backhanded.”

“Well.” She huffed, and he turned over in the bed as she crossed her arms and glared up at the dark ceiling. “He had no right to call you _son_ , like he’d raised you. To use you like that.”

“Did I say I was mad at you for it?” Meeting Maric had been unexpected. Well, terrible. The old king had used his will to impose on them a world where Alistair had been raised at court, and Cait had been cast as some wide-eyed, kept woman.

The slap had broken Maric’s hold on Alistair’s mind, and the wrongness of it all had crashed into him like a swelling tide. But that was not what circled his mind at the moment. No, what nagged at him were the nightmares that woke Cait, the visions of being dragged down into the dark and twisted, _violated_. Or the knowledge that in a small case strung around her neck was a single, black pill. A concoction Zevran had made, when Alistair had not been able to promise Cait that he would not see her taken.

Her death and her greatest fears haunted her more and more, and this wild chase offered no relief from either.

“No,” she said as she cuddled up to him. He held her close and squeezed until she puffed out a nearly irritated breath. “But that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it? Alistair, it’s not your fault that this didn’t lead us to the cure. Avernus is still puzzling over that Dalish book, and there might be something in there yet.”

“But we’re running out of _time_ , Cait.” Time slipping, trickling, running away. Until the day when she would rather bite down on the bitter pill than risk the Calling. Until the day he could not save her. Why, why in the Maker’s name had he done _all_ that he had done, if he was still going to lose her like that? There had to be a way. There _had_ to be. 

He pressed his face into her short curls and inhaled deeply. _Fresh water and lilac_. Still. Always. “I can’t lose you.”

_If you want my advice, son, if I’m allowed to give you any, marry that woman._

“Marry me,” he blurted. “If anything, if anything we can have that.”

“Oh, Alistair, you know why we can’t,” she sighed. His jaw clamped shut and his teeth ground together. Muscles jumped with tension, but then she clicked her tongue thoughtfully. “But maybe, maybe we could take a little time? For ourselves. We didn’t get to see much of Antiva City while we were there, and I’m sure Nathaniel and Velanna won’t burn down the Vigil. Pretty sure.”

“Are you suggesting we _honeymoon_? You? With everything that’s going on? Just leave?”

“Not forever, just for long enough to really be together for a little while. These years haven’t been easy on you.”

“Or you.” He hung his head, because for all that he feared _for_ her, she was the one who would suffer if they did not find the cure. And though he was a Warden-Captain and bore more responsibility than he thought reasonable, _she_ was the Warden-Commander. Hers was the greater burden by far. He scrubbed at his eyes.

“So what do you say?” Green eyes gleamed in the dark, bright and eager, and for a moment they were children again. Nineteen and twenty-one with no idea what they were doing, only knowing that they were about to _try_.

“I say,” he said slowly, tracing the lines of her face with his fingertips. “Let’s go to Antiva.”

She kissed him, lips soft as always, even if the years had left their scars and marks on her. He wouldn’t fail her, he promised himself. He would do whatever it took to protect her, to keep her safe. To do anything less at this point would be damnation for certain.

* * *

_vii. all the more precious_

**9.39 Dragon, August  
** **Vigil’s Keep, Arling of Amaranthine**

Caitwyn brushed the hair back from the boy’s brow, black and fine, she twisted a lock of it between her fingers. Only eight, and she could see the lines of his father in him, even though he had his mother’s coloring. Maethor curled up on the bed, snuggling close to keep Kieran warm as he slept, and Caitwyn slipped out of the small bedroom. It was right next to her rooms, which she had no inclination to return to. With Alistair gone on another expedition and Maethor watching over Kieran, Caitwyn braced another cold night. 

Three months, three months ago Morrigan had come to her door, the boy in tow, entrusting Caitwyn with him while she attended to some business the Empress of Orlais had set her to. As unexpected as it was to be suddenly entrusted with his care, and as wary as she had been around the boy at first, it had not taken her long to come to care for him for the kind, generous boy he was. He was quiet, quieter than she would have thought all things considered, but he came alive when she showed him to climb trees or skip stones, or simply took him down by the sea to play in the shallows with Maethor, high laughter ringing out over the crashing waves.

Though she knew it was no accident that Morrigan appeared with the boy while Alistair was away.

Suppressing a forlorn sigh, Caitwyn opened the door to her rooms, and felt that shiver, that telltale apprehension that something wasn’t quite right. On silent feet, she moved through the room, keeping to the shadows. The fire had been laid and lit, but the shifting light was not a challenge to her. Her eyes peered into the darkness, searching for what was wrong, and she flexed her fingers, her mother’s dagger close to hand as always. There was a slight click, the sharp strike of something hard on glass, and she saw it. A raven just outside her window, perching on the sill, staring at her with yellow eyes.

She huffed, shaking her head, and sheathed her dagger. Crossing the room, she opened the window and the raven flew inside. Not bothering to watch as Morrigan shapeshifted, Caitwyn secured the latch on the window once more.

“I’d say my door is always open, but I guess you noticed that we lock up after sundown,” Caitwyn said, turning back around to see her old friend returned to human form, looking as she always did. Gesturing vaguely at the sideboard where she kept her kettle, Caitwyn offered, “Tea?”

“If you would be as so kind, yes. T’was a rather chill flight, and the warmth would be most welcome,” Morrigan replied, and Caitwyn set about to brewing a spiced tea she had taken a liking to lately.

“Your business for the Empress is done, then?” Caitwyn asked, handing one mug to Morrigan and keeping the other for herself. They sat in the two high backed chairs by the fire, and Caitwyn was struck by how it didn’t seem to matter that years and years had gone by, but that she could speak to Morrigan as if no time at all had passed. The same could not be said for her family, still in Denerim, where each passing year made it harder and harder to write letters to a place that was no longer home.

“This task, yes. Completed in spite of the bumbling of the local authorities,” Morrigan said, though her tone was not laced with quite as much derision as it might have been years ago. Cait sipped her tea, just cool enough to drink, and at that moment, Morrigan spoke again, tone cautious, “He was no trouble, I trust.”

“No trouble at all. He’s been a joy to have here. He’s a sweet boy, Morrigan, and you’ve clearly been a good mother to him.” Though Morrigan would never ask for reassurance, she might be seeking it all the same.

“Surprising, is it not? With my own mother as such a _sterling_ example,” Morrigan said, twisting those last words into a sharp thing. Then she sighed, curling her pale fingers around the mug, fixing Caitwyn with eyes that had once been cold and distant, but had seen too much to remain that way entirely. “I thought of you when I did not know what to do. You were good with children, though I did not find it a useful skill at the time. I knew what my own mother would have done, in certain situations, but I had no other example to draw from. Save yours.”

Caitwyn knew what it would have cost the Morrigan of eight years ago to say that, but now, now she let the words stand, an honest truth between them. Morrigan had called her ‘sister’ once, sister in spirit, if not in blood, and made a sacrifice of herself so Caitwyn would be spared. It was what family did, what love compelled. 

“You give yourself too little credit, Morrigan,” Caitwyn replied. Morrigan raised one dark brow at her, a bemused quirk to her lips.

“Think you so? Perhaps, but perhaps not,” she said, attempting for cryptic, but Caitwyn had learned to see read between the lines of how the other woman spoke. “Regardless, tis late, and I would not wake him. If I could impose on you for the night, we will be gone come the morning.”

“Let him sleep in, Morrigan. He can break his fast with us, and then be off. Besides, if you don’t let him say good-bye to Maethor, he’ll be heartbroken,” Caitwyn told her, and Morrigan blanched.

“Do not tell me he wishes to have a _dog_ ,” she said stridently, setting her mug of tea down sharply. Caitwyn smiled, letting her sharp canines show.

“You’re lucky I’d already promised this current litter away, otherwise he might have already had one,” Caitwyn said, and Morrigan sighed.

“I rescind my earlier statement. You are a poor example for parenting.” Morrigan sniffed, as if dismissing the entire conversation that had come before. “Far too soft.”

“We all have our faults,” Caitwyn said with a smirk. But nothing would shift the warmth that bloomed in her heart to think of one simple thing: that in some way, she had always been with Morrigan and Kieran, and perhaps always would be.

* * *

_viii. is the slimmest chance_

**9.40 Dragon, Firstfall  
** **Vigil’s Keep, Arling of Amaranthine**

West. She was going west soon, to find the cure, if it existed, and he had to stay. One last duty, one last mission, then they need never part again.

“Cait,” he said quietly, rousing her from sleep easily. She had always been a light sleeper and quick to wake. It was no different even in the middle of the night, and she turned over in their bed to face him. In the low light of the banked fire, he could see her worried frown, and he rushed to reassure her. “I’m alright, I just—”

“I know,” she said softly, curling up in the circle of his arms.

“There’s something, something I want you to have,” he said, letting out a little nervous huff, and he sat up to shift through the contents of the bedside table. Then he found it, the small box he had been carrying around for a while, ever since they had found that lead and they knew only one of them could go. She propped herself up on one elbow, and he turned back around to present the box to her. Glancing down at it briefly, she arched one dark eyebrow, all the reasons they had never married probably on the tip of her tongue. But she held her peace, letting him speak.

“Not what you think, well, alright, it’s a ring. Just, actually look at it,” he said, opening the box, the slim silverite ring gleaming in the low light. Expression still skeptical, she nevertheless delicately plucked the ring from the box, holding it up closer to her eyes to inspect it. Then her lips spread in a slow, delighted smile, and she looked at him with eyes as dark and enchanting as the heart of the forest.

“You,” she said slowly, slipping the ring onto her finger. “Are entirely too sweet for my own good.”

“I know. Why else have you stayed with me all these years?” he asked, finally letting himself feel smug about what he had accomplished. A silverite ring, but etched into its surface was a single rose. A reminder, one he hoped she would carry with her into the west, into territory and dangers unknown. Where he could not follow.

“Because I love you,” she answered, and in that answer was the promise that did not need to be spoken.

* * *

_ix. that we might one day go home again_

**9.42 Dragon, Wintermarch  
** **Beyond the West**

Dust filtered down through the cracks in the ruined ceiling overhead, as did thin beams of sunlight. The arid landscape outside this old fortress was a cruel one, but the last hope for a cure had led her here. To this lonely, forgotten place where the Wardens had began. 

She adjusted the scarf about her face and knelt to check the flagstones for traps. This place had been littered with them thus far, and she was not about to risk everything when they might be so close.

“Is it safe?” Merrill asked, in her chipper voice. Even facing down demons, the Dalish mage was irrepressible. She had needed a mage for this journey, and that she had left would be bad enough in the eyes of the First Warden. If she had taken Velanna, that would have invited more scrutiny than she would care for. 

Besides, Velanna had never warmed to her. Or anyone for that matter.

“ _Sathan, vi'dirth El'vhen thana_ ,” Caitwyn said haltingly, _please use El’vhen_ , or close enough. With little and less to keep a mind occupied, she had finally been able to learn the one language that had been denied her. It had been a welcome distraction on nights when the way had seemed long or, worse, lost.

“Oh! Sorry, I mean: _Ir abelas_.” Then Merrill coughed. “Though, you did get the order just a very little bit wrong, your pronunciation was excellent.”

Caitwyn’s shoulders slumped and she breathed out slowly. There was a near-permanent ache behind her eyes, and her entire body had been covered in grit and dirt for so long that it might as well be a second skin to her. And then there was the hunger. Meager rations for over a year as they had followed clue to clue until they had finally reached this place of last hope.

She reminded herself Merrill had endured the same hardships alongside her. That the mage had accompanied her in good faith, as Alistair had gone to help Hawke investigate red lyrium. 

“Thank you, Merrill,” she said with as much grace as she could muster. “And yes, it’s safe. Maybe it’s a good idea to use Common until we’re out of here.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a good idea.”

“Alright, just follow me closely.”

Merrill nodded eagerly, and Caitwyn carefully traversed the long hall. Old pit traps had fallen open, the wood rotted away, and more than a few floor plates sagged for a broken mechanism. They reached the stone pedestal without incident, and the ornate silverite chest sat untarnished in spite of the centuries of exposure.

Before Caitwyn could put her picks to use, Merrill laid a hand on her arm and frowned at the box. A whispered word slithered through the air and sparked on the box, then Merrill grinned brightly behind her scarf. 

Heart in her throat, Caitwyn inserted her picks into the mechanism and took her time. It would be the worst kind of torture to have come this far and break a pick off in the lock. Slowly, straining her ears for each click of a peg, Caitwyn at long last unlocked the small chest. The lid sprung open as though recently oiled, and a sheaf of papers lay within.

A Warden’s seal marked them, and like the Warden treaties she’d found almost a dozen years ago, these papers had withstood with ravages of time.

She shoved them at Merrill and watched as the bloodmage read them over. Merrill flipped them back and forth, making small comments to herself that Caitwyn couldn’t parse. Sweat ran down her back, but she could barely breathe and tugged her scarf loose.

Then Merrill met her eyes and knew.

Her vision swam, and she gingerly took up the papers and drank in the sight of them.

Voice shaking, body trembling, she held her salvation in her hands. Her’s, and Alistiar’s and every Warden’s. “This is it, _vhenan_ ,” she said with a quaking voice. _Heart_ , the word that fit in her mouth when she thought of her unserious, gentle man better than any other she’d known. “I’m coming home.”

**Author's Note:**

> The end! 
> 
> If you want to know how it went with Caitwyn and Alistair after this point, check out my other fic, [The Long Way Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613042/chapters/33774264). It starts off with a bit of action and adventure and takes a sharp turn into slice of life.
> 
> If you want more detailed Quest for the Cure fics, I can suggest two fics written by very good friends of mine.
> 
> First is [A Beast that Wants](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102173/chapters/42792107) by [PoboboProbably](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoboboProbably/pseuds/PoboboProbably). Excellent character work, narration, world building, theory about how the Taint and the Cure would work, and some of the best Morrigan writing I've ever read. This is an emotional journey of a reluctant protagonist at its finest. Do yourself a favor and god damn read it.
> 
> Second is [A Hero's Path](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081976/chapters/32444010) by [RedPandaDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPandaDragon/pseuds/RedPandaDragon). A search for the cure from a mage!Warden's perspective, Ilyana Surana goes through a whole mess of ups and downs. High drama, big cast of all your faves, and several surprise twists.


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